


Exhale Your Life Over Mine

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ace Cullen, Alpha Cullen, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexuality, Brief Mentions of Acephobia, Bull's Chargers, Charger!Cullen, Cullen Has Issues, Drug Dealer Samson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Omega Dorian, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Cullen realizes it, he's a walking, talking cautionary tale. A coming-of-age story for the ages, told in red flags and solo cups.A counseling center pamphlet.<br/>He's ready to give up on all of it.</p><p>And then there's Dorian. </p><p>- or - </p><p>A college AU feat. heartbreak, comfort food, highlighter dicks, and the ooey gooey kind of love that rolls its eyes, smiles its crooked smile, and makes you glad for every second that brought you here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Announce My Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jack_the_giantkiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_the_giantkiller/gifts).



> Hella late birthday thingamy for Jack!  
> They wanted ace!Cullen, and my tiny reptile brain pinged all over the place before this came out. 
> 
> I've been noodling over whether or not to post part of this before it's finished, but I need the accountability. 
> 
> The title and chapter titles are from _Dream of My Love (Chasing After You)_ by Abe Vigoda.  
>  I hope you enjoy it.

Until he hit sixteen years old, everyone assumed Cullen was a Beta. He never acted aggressively, or displayed possessive tendencies. He was a quiet boy, if a bit easily overwhelmed by noisy, crowded places. His Da always knew to find him out on the docks, tying cattails into complicated patterns until his fingers were sore.

He’d come sit by Cullen for a spell before cupping his palm over the back of his son’s neck, broad shoulders drawing up in a great, heaving sigh as he did his best to soothe his son’s pride. Sometimes Cullen wishes he’d been a deceptively bulky Omega, like his father. He could have been a late bloomer, or biologically _picky_ , or…

He’d woken up one Saturday morning, damp, achy, and erect, with the unmistakable weight of a _knot_ at his base. And he’d started swearing up a storm, even as he fisted his dick, angry and hot and uncomfortable.

Because he didn’t _want_ to spend the rest of his life posturing and chasing after pheromone signatures. He’d assumed that, with this change, he’d start acting like so many of his classmates--losing their heads and getting into pointless fights.

But nothing had changed.

He felt _nothing_.

Occasionally, he’d misstep and get into a scuffle with a hotheaded classmate, but before too long Cullen was a ‘safe bet.’ Alphas scoffed at him, and Omegas used him like a human barricade. He wouldn’t expect anything of them, or get handsy, and he was a nice boy.

Nothing to worry about from that Cullen, after all.

For a while it was nice.

Until he started dating.

-

His first girlfriend was a sweet Beta, who told him it was perfectly all right not to want to have sex. She’d told him at length about her own religious commitments, and that she was thinking of joining the Chantry when she was old enough.

But Cullen wasn’t _celibate_. He just...didn’t want her. Their split was a mutual one, friendly and not particularly emotional. Two young people who realized that their interests lay in opposite directions.

His second girlfriend was an Omega, and an absolute nightmare. Things had started off well enough. Where Cullen had been off shy and hesitant, she’d been gung ho from the beginning. It had been fun, at first. Drinking at the lake with a few of her friends, going out to local fairs...it had been nice, right up until the couples split off to get in a bit of necking.

She’d pitched a _fit_ when she reached down his pants and found him completely uninterested. He’d ended up driving home in beer-sticky clothes, sporting a black eye. His Ma had nearly found the girl and torn her house down around her ears.

He’d spent the night staring at the ceiling, his eyes burning even as his Da sat at the foot of his bed, trying to tell him that there was nothing wrong with him. He wasn’t in trouble for the drinking or the fooling around.

They just wanted him to know, sweet boy that he was, that it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t broken. He shouldn’t let it bring him down.

He stopped dating until college.

-

Things are _easier_ in college. At the start of freshman year, nobody knows each other. At first, Cullen is a bit intimidated at the sheer _size_ of his incoming class and the university as a whole, but looking around it’s clear that everyone else is in the exact same boat.

His parents' eyes are damp and red, but they can’t stop smiling and touching his hair and neck, like they can’t help but take this last chance to mark him as their boy. To protect him, just a little.

And then there’s a massive qunari in an offensively neon pink t-shirt hoisting a box out of his Ma’s arms with a, “Hey, where we goin’?”

She doesn’t even have time to get offended. She’s never _seen_ a kossith before, and now there’s suddenly a large gray man beaming at them and waiting to be pointed in the right direction. The shirt says, **_Happy Moove In_ ** **,** bracketed by a pair of horns just like the ones on his head, and Mia nearly hyperventilates when she comes over with another box.

When he turns around to whistle for another member of the move-in crew, they’re given a prime view of the back, which says:

 ** _Chargers Moving Crew -_** ** _  
_** **_We haul your shit so you don’t have to._**

Cullen is going to be fine.

-

The qunari’s name is Bull, and he’s the most laid back Alpha that Cullen has ever met. He also happens to be Cullen’s orientation leader, which means he’s in charge of the bonkers activities they’re forced into in the name of bonding as a community.

He gets to laugh his ass off while they all spin around a bat and try to complete a relay race without throwing up or falling over.

That’s how Cullen meets Sera.

She’s the first to fall on her ass, and she drags him down with her.

-

Through Sera, and occasionally Bull, he manages to befriend a large (if motley) group of the most bizarre individuals ever gathered under the banner of academia. He joins the university’s GSA, which Sera and her girlfriend Isaphode Lavellan have taken to like ducks to water. (If the ducks were highly aggressive and spent every spare moment telling filthy jokes and drawing dicks on each other with highlighters because _why the fuck not?_ )

((They don’t even wait until one of them is **_sleeping._ ** They just _do_ it. As a sign of **_affection_ **.))

Solas, the Student Government rep who occasionally comes to check in, treats them as if they’re the Blight with tits. He’s not _entirely_ wrong. There’s a chance all of those blue-pink-green dicks might rub off on contact.

Josephine Montilyet, a sophomore who has already risen to the position of club VP, is in charge of getting their attention, which seemed an impossibility at first, until she’d whistled loud enough to quiet a full auditorium and then smiled at them with nothing but saintly grace.

(Apparently she referees something called _smacktumble_ on the weekends, a game made up mostly by the campus’ qunari students. Her girlfriend, Herah, is the closest thing to a captain they have. As far as Cullen can tell, the person with the most bruises wins.

He makes the mistake of agreeing to join them for what _sounds_ like a perfectly tame game of Ultimate Frisbee and ends up going to the student health center with Blackwall to have the nurse pop his fingers back into place.)

-

About a month into really settling in on campus, Cullen finally asks Bull what all the fuss is he’s heard about The Chargers. It’s a phrase he’s heard often in relation to Bull, usually thrown about by Omega students.

When he brings the subject up, the other man actually blushes a bright violet red and scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah,” He says. “Ah, well, that was sort of an accident. But we’re proud of it now.”

Apparently, Bull and his ever-growing band of merry misfits found out about an ugly situation at a party up on Fraternity Row, and went barging in to escort several panicking students out and safely back to their dorms.

Since then, they’ve formed something like a community service group of their own, giving people rides, getting them out of uncomfortable situations, and providing peer counseling with the occasional pitcher of alcohol. Everyone on campus nods when Bull and his people pass by--unless, of course, they’ve had something broken in the recent past.

Cullen thinks back to high school. He thinks of the way Omega students had stuck to him like glue, giving off _anxiety_ and _fear_ because they were suddenly _afraid_ of kids they’d known since training pants.

He thinks of Rosalie, crying up a storm when she’d first presented because an Alpha in her class had pinned her up against a wall and she’d had to knee him in the soft bits, and then _she’d_ gotten in trouble.

He remembers thinking, _well, it could be worse. I could be an Omega_ and he feels _angry_ at himself, because how shitty is that?

He says, “Any chance I could join you?”

And Bull grins and claps his shoulder so hard he stumbles a bit. That’s how Cullen becomes a Charger.

-

He spends his Friday nights and part of his weekends hanging out with the Chargers, comparing notes on recent goings on on campus and quickly learning better than to engage in drinking contests with dwarves.

The first (and only) time Cullen makes an honest go of it, Rocky calls him ‘cute’ and lets him use his jacket as a pillow when he passes out under the table.

He wakes up to Cassandra dousing him with a pitcher of cold water. “This is sad. At least try to maintain _some_ of your dignity. Please.”

This is their first meeting.

He should be offended, or pissed off, or virtually anything but _overcome by hero worship._

Cassandra is what they call an ‘auxiliary member.’

Sometimes she’ll drink with them, and if she can’t handle a situation herself, she’ll call them up. She teaches self defense classes at the Student Union, and has held demonstrations during which she has successfully drawn Bull into a hip throw.

Dripping but upright, Cullen watches in abject fascination as she uses Krem to demonstrate the difference between a chokehold and a sleeper hold. Krem, for his part, seems _overjoyed_ to be manhandled.  

Very quickly, Cullen comes to count her as one of his very best friends.

-

She reads the school newspaper.

Religiously.

She is the most take-no-shit paragon of Alpha Femininity, and she reads the utter shitshow that is Varric Tethras’ school newspaper _for the horrific mess that is the editor’s weekly romance serial._

When Cullen mentioned to his family that there _was_ a romance serial in his school’s newspaper, they hadn’t believed him. Apparently, there used to be a faculty advisor who maintained standards of integrity and journalistic principles.

Cullen is fairly certain that whoever’s in charge now runs a quick, cursory check for multiple uses of the word ‘fuck’ and shrugs their shoulders before sending it off to print.

He scrunches up his nose when she shows it to him, as if she is sharing one of her deepest, most intimate secrets. She is _blushing._ A woman who has grappled her way through an entire bar filled with drunken frat boys to get at a drunk Omega and commented blackly on the nature of modern man _swoons_ over tales of blushing maidens and black-hearted nobles with troubled pasts.

“I don’t understand.” He says.

“Varric is a genius, but an utter bastard.”

“Okay?”

“I just... _need_ a little bit of it in my life, you know?”

“Bodice ripping?”

“ _Romance_ , Cullen. A fantasy of someone to share my heart with. It’s not exactly readily available to me.”

Cullen thinks about his Ma, still in her frilly apron, being mistaken for an Omega as she walked with he and Mia in mid-summer. He remembers someone reaching out to pull at her skirt, and backing away in _terror_ when she growled and turned on them.

He remembers watching his mother _pummel_ a man for spewing his vitriol at Rosalie, spitting down at him as he curled protectively around his stomach. _Yer fuckin lucky I’m_ not _an Omega. Y’know what my Bernhard would do ta you?!_

He remembers his father picking her up and spinning her around, telling her, _Happy anniversary, ‘o light of my life!_ and her laughing like a little girl on a merry-go-round.

To Cassandra he says, “I wouldn’t say that.”

And she smiles at him.

-

For the first time in _years_ , Cullen feels _right_ when he goes about his daily life. He’s happy to be where he is, helping people, learning new things, and participating in the occasional bar fight. Even on the shit nights, there’s an easy companionship, like a warm blanket wrapping over everything.

He isn’t alone.

He isn’t different.

And then he meets Samson.

-

Bull warns him not to do it.

He says that Samson isn’t the greatest guy on campus, which is Bull’s way of trying to gently communicate _he’s a real fuckin’ asshole._ But Cullen isn’t interested.

They meet at a party--one that Samson _calls him to_ \--because he’s worried about some of the other Omegas.

Cullen and Krem show up, sleeves rolled up, ready to bust some heads and steady some shaky partygoers, and there’s Samson with his phone out, leading them straight to where a pair of girls are strung out on _something_ and shivering.

The smiles they offer up are syrupy-swimming and not at all reassuring.

They take them to the 24-hour clinic down the road, Samson fussing over them in the backseat, and when Cullen goes to drop Krem back off at his dorm, the other man glances toward the back and shakes his head.

But Samson crawls into the front seat, all winning smiles and praise and “You’re a real hero, you know that?”

He and Samson stay up until dawn, talking about growing up in small towns and all the shitty bands they’ve loved before. Cullen doesn’t feel wrong-footed or out of place.

That comes later, when Samson is someone else.

That comes when Cullen doesn’t stop him.

-

For a while, it’s great.

They make it through their freshman year all right.

Cullen goes on with the Chargers, rolling his eyes when they ask him in low tones about his _boyfriend_. He keeps attending the GSA and letting Sera and Issy draw neon daisies and dicks on his arms. (He doesn’t even roll down the sleeves of his flannel after. His shame has shriveled up and died, and they love it.)

He still joins in when Josie and Herah invite him to play frisbee, but not fucking _smacktumble,_ and he trades shitty romance novels with Cassandra, who’s managed to convert him, if not to the most irredeemable of smut, at least to Avvar romances.

But he doesn’t party like Samson parties.

Which is normal, right? They’re two separate people. Samson has his own friends. He doesn’t need to run in Cullen’s circles.

They do well enough when it’s just them, talking and kissing and sharing breath. Samson doesn’t push him when something makes him uncomfortable, just laughs it off and pats him on the arm. “That’s fair,” Samson says, like it’s as easy as not liking pepper on his eggs.

_Fair._

Sometimes Samson texts Cullen to come help out some Omegas at a party, instead of contacting the Chargers. It makes sense. The Chargers don’t really like him, and he knows that Cullen is trustworthy. He’s dating him, after all.

There’s nothing weird about it.

The end of the year rolls around, and they kiss goodbye, and they don’t have sex. Samson says, _That’s fair._

Cullen asks if he’d like to visit over the summer, but Samson says he’ll be busy.

“What have you got to be busy with?” Cullen laughs.

But Samson doesn’t. “I don’t ask about your stuff, Cull.”

Cullen _wants_ him to. Isn’t that what people do? It hurts his feelings, the way Samson says that. He hadn’t meant any _harm_ . He’d only been teasing. That’s what people _did_ when they were close…

Cullen smiles. He says, “That’s fair.”

-

It isn’t.

-

Sophomore year, things start going pear-shaped.

Samson and Cullen are back together. Cullen tries to talk to him the way he always has, only sometimes now Samson is angry.

Sometimes being around him makes Cullen feel confused or threatened. Samson says it’s the pills. It’s pretty common for Omegas to take some combination of the suppressants offered up on the market, but Cullen’s never heard of it making nearby Alphas feel _paranoid_ before.

But Samson wraps an arm around his shoulder and kisses him hard and laughs into his mouth.

This is normal, he thinks.

This is fair.

-

Cullen walks up to Fraternity Row in the pissing rain. By the time he gets to the party, he is _not_ in a good mood. He _wants_ someone to start shit. It’s the most Alpha he’s ever felt. So when he finds Samson hovering over a girl in torn dress, turned on her side and trembling with vomit pooled by her head, he _growls_ at him.

“Back up,” He says. “Back the _fuck_ up.”

Samson has a _fucking pill bottle_ in his hand. He tries to hide it in his pocket, but Cullen is an Alpha. There is an Omega lying prone on the floor, suffering, and _every one of his senses_ is keyed into the why and how and what.

He has one of her friends call an ambulance and drums up whatever first aid he can remember. He calls Bull to ask about the rest.

He whispers, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know. _Fuck_.”

Bull’s voice is a sad rumble down the line.

He doesn’t say, _I told you so._

Instead he says, “Stay safe, man.”

Cullen wishes he’d been smart enough to do that from the beginning.

-

Samson follows him back to his dorm, and thank _fuck_ his roommate is out, because Leliana doesn’t need to hear this shit.

“You started dealing drugs, and I didn’t fucking notice.”

“I didn’t _start_ dealing drugs, Cull. I never _stopped._ ”

There’s something **_mean_ ** in his eye, and then his scent shifts. He wraps an arm around Cullen’s shoulders and suddenly Cullen is picking up _fear_ and _helplessness._

It feels like he’s choking and shaking but none of it makes it to the surface of his skin. He feels his arms wrap around Samson.

“It helps, Cullen. The world isn’t fair to us, and this stuff helps. She just didn’t follow the instructions.”

He thinks of the girl with her torn dress and the far-off eyes, and the friend who could barely hold the phone well enough to dial **9 1 1.**

“You’re so good to me, Alpha.” Samson whispers.

He wasn’t like this before.

It wasn’t like this before.

Suddenly Cullen wishes he was the one with the phone in his hands, but who the hell would he call? How would he explain this?

He signed up for this. Samson is his boyfriend.

He should have been paying attention.

This is fair.


	2. Burned at the Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went ahead and added this chapter as well because, well, I felt like we ought to introduce Dorian.  
> (And get the misery over with.)

Months pass like that.

Things get worse, and months pass like that.

Cullen continues going to bars with the Chargers, and helping out around campus. He goes to class, and plays Ultimate Frisbee, and sits quietly while Sera and Issy draw sad faces on his arms in pink-blue-green-yellow.

He keeps getting messages from Samson.

He keeps going to clean up Samson’s messes.

He memorizes first aid for seizures and CPR and things he shouldn’t have to know how to do but does.

He notices that Samson gets meaner and meaner and this shit starts happening more and more often.

And then one night a boy in a **Nug Life** t-shirt _dies_ , and Samson shakes his head and sighs, “That’s fair.”

But that’s not fair.

That’s not fucking fair.

Samson did this.

Cullen  _let_ Samson do this.

-

He tries to walk away.

He literally tries to walk away after the paramedics ask him a few questions, and then the cops ask him a few more.

He tells the paramedics the truth, and shrugs helplessly at the cops, because his mouth won’t form the _fucking words_ necessary to give Samson what’s fair.

He hates.

He feels hate.

He doesn’t know who it’s directed at, but as he walks back toward his dorm with his fists curled tight in his pockets and hears Samson calling after him, he has a pretty good idea.

Samson catches up.

Cullen isn’t responsible. He hasn’t been responsible before, and he isn’t now.

Because an Alpha should never hit an Omega, but by the Maker, Cullen does.

He slaps Samson right across the face and watches him fall back on his ass. His face is a brilliant red where Cullen’s palm landed and Cullen realizes _I’ve never wanted to take care of you. Not once. Not until you started taking shit and I was scared and angry and nervous all the time._

Samson took drugs that made him feel like a _threat_ . He pushed himself into Cullen’s space and under the waistband of his pants, and he’d taunted him about not being _ready_ or being _quirky_ and he just didn’t _want_ to.

But none of that compares to a kid going to a college party and wanting to feel alive and putting their trust in the wrong fucking asshole and ending up _dead_.

Samson did this.

So Cullen slaps him. Knocks him down.

Samson spits on his shoes and _laughs at him._ “Fuck you, Cull. Fuck you and your god complex. You’re not better than me. You’re fucking _broken_. What good’s an Alpha who can’t pop a knot?”

Cullen can’t answer him.

Because he’s not good.

He thought he was, but he isn’t. He didn’t notice any of this. He just kept cleaning up the messes, and smiling at people who _trusted him._ He sat there and watched Sera and Issy laugh and touch the skin on his arms, and now he felt _contagious._

They’re Omegas, and they trust him when they _shouldn’t._

Cassandra and Bull and the Chargers. They think he’s a good person, and he’s _not._

He stares at Samson, looking up from the grass, grinning maliciously, and he doesn’t do a thing. He says, “That’s fair.”

And he walks away.

-

“I need to move, Bull. It’s not like I’m leaving town, I just can’t fucking be on campus. Please. I just...they say I need cause? And I can’t...I just don’t want to explain.”

Bull does not say _I told you so._

He hugs Cullen while he chokes up on his tears.

He says, “I got you, bud.”

Cullen doesn’t know how the man does it, but he gets him out of student housing _with a refund_ and helps him find a cheap enough place just off campus.

He tells anyone who asks to give him his space for a little while.

But he can’t predict how long.

-

It’s two months of Cullen going to class and going home and going to class and grabbing groceries and nodding politely at a neighbor who always looks politely concerned but never speaks to him about it.

It’s two months of Cullen slowly phasing out of his own social life while people give him panicked looks. But there’s no real way to address what he’s feeling. He feels as if reaching out and grabbing hold would leave a tar black _smear_ on the people he still cares about.  

It’s two months of worried text messages and notes with crude drawings slipped in with his mail. And he smiles down at every one and _doesn’t cry_ because it makes him feel like he’s still somehow connected to the person who was _worth_ all of this trouble.

He doesn’t mind being broken. He’s survived it this long.

He can go a little longer.

Until Isaphode decides she’s had about Enough of this bullshit.

Cullen hadn’t even realized his apartment had a doorbell until she jabbed it _mercilessly_ with one perfectly manicured fingernail. (A bright pink ‘F’ on a baby blue background.)

It’s the middle of December, and it’s cold outside, but there is apparently no happy medium in Issy’s world. She’s dressed in a **Baby Bitch** t-shirt, short shorts, fishnets, and a pair of neon green boots. _All of these things_ have obviously been stolen from Sera’s closet.

Meanwhile, the person she’s dragged along for this visit is nigh-invisible, buried in three different jackets--one of which _has_ to have been borrowed from Bull to accomodate quite so many stuffed underneath--and an old Pokemon quilt, thrown over their head like a wimple.

“What the fuck?”

“Cullen! You’re **_alive!_ ** ” She surges forward and pulls him into a hug, as if he hadn’t still been sighted moving between classes and had, rather, been lost somewhere in the Wastes.

“Hi, Issy.”

“And you look like shit. Ugh, tell me you’ve been eating.” She pinches at his belly through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and he swats at her grabby fingers.  

“I’ve been eating.”

“Let me copy your psych paper.”

“No.”

“Oh, good. You retain free will. I have a favor to ask you.”

“A favor?” Cullen frowns. Honestly, Issy is fairly popular in her own right. There are people more reliable than Cullen she should be able to go to. And isn’t it odd that he feels indignant about people being not-so-nice to a friend he hasn’t spoken properly to in weeks?

Unbothered, Issy backs up a few paces and gestures to the fabric-equivalent of Cousin It like they’re on some kind of twisted candid gameshow. “Cullen, meet Dorian! He needs a place to stay.”

“Just to clarify--there _is_ a person in there?”

“Oh, yes. And he’s pretty, too. It’s just that he’s allergic to everything.”

“I’m not allergic.” The voice that emerges from the fabric fortress is, in a word, posh. There’s a pleasant rumble to it, and the tone is undeniably masculine, but it’s also comically muffled and not a little bit _whiny._ “I’m just freezing my _tits_ off. It _offends me_ that you can wear that in this weather.”

“It also offends you that the cafeteria doesn’t offer _wine_. You’ll live.” She turns back to Cullen with a bright smile. “Do you think you can help out?”

“You haven’t told me _why_ I need to adopt the walking, talking blanket fort.”

“See, Dorian’s an Omega, right?”

“Okay.”

“And he’s transferred in late on special circumstances--”

“ _Which we will not discuss._ ”

“Right. So he’s transferred in late, and now all the Omegas and Betas on campus are all matched in housing. There’s for real _nobody left_ to room with for our poor little hothouse orchid, and he _needs us_ , Cullen.”

“You...do recall that I’m an Alpha?”

“But you’re a _good_ Alpha. You don’t give anybody any shit, and you know how to act right and be decent. You’re a _Charger_ , for fucksakes.”

Hearing it warms Cullen a bit. For a while, he’s been dissociating from ever having done any _good_ on campus, but that...helps.

Dorian sighs. “I know this all seems a bit ridiculous, and it’s fantastically rude to show up at your doorstep and give you some shtick about being my only hope, but if what everyone’s said about you is true, I’d be willing to risk it. If you can help at all…”

Cullen glances back over his shoulder, at the blank walls and the lonely couch. He thinks, _Well, there’s the study…_

And before his mouth can catch up with his brain, he says, “It couldn’t hurt.”

It _could_. It really could.

He’s at a point where Omegas have begun to scare the living _shit_ out of him, but he’s already said yes. Dorian says, _“Thank you”_ like he might be close to crying and Issy flings herself into Cullen’s arms again.

“It’ll be good, I promise. He talks like an ass, but he’s a nice one. And you need someone to make sure you’re alive while we can’t.”

She hugs him tight about the ribs, and he holds her back. His chin sits comfortably atop her downy-soft hair, and he wrinkles his nose at the Dorian pile.

“Am I ever actually going to see your face?”

“That depends on how much of an asshole you are about the heating bill.”

This is going to be an adventure.

-

The first real observation Cullen is able to make about Dorian Pavus--aside from his apparent inability to process _cold_ \--is that he’s the sort of person who would move into a new place in skin-tight jeans.

The second observation he’s able to make is that Dorian Pavus has what appears to be the world’s most perfectly curved ass. It’s both frightening and mesmerizing. Cullen feels like he’s in some kind of twisted geometry lesson, trying to apply the Golden Ratio to his new roommate’s backside.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

“Yes,” Cullen says, only slightly flushed. “Does it not hurt to bend over in those pants?”

“That’s the thing about designer clothes.” Dorian says. “You’re paying to look pretty, not to be comfortable.”

“That’s a uniquely Tevene thing to say.”

“Oh, not quite. That would be, _What is pain, in the face of perfection? Death too is beautiful, in the absence of breath._ ”

Cullen snorts. “Is that a campaign slogan or something?”

“For a line of corsets.” Dorian grins, and Cullen feels his breath hitch just a bit at the newness of those pretty teeth. “Hand me the box cutter, would you? I made the mistake of letting these get taped all to hell.”

-

Dorian is unusual, for an Omega, but mercifully not in the same way Samson had been unusual. He and Cullen speak often, and at length, but Dorian doesn’t lead him the way Samson did. With Samson, topics had always been familiar, a sort of common ground.

With Dorian, there’s a constant back and forth.

Some days Cullen learns, and others he teaches.

He learns that Dorian is a fan of the school paper, and that he, like Cassandra, is a regular reader of Varric’s horrific romance serials. He says he has to have _something_ to laugh at, and Cullen doesn’t see a reason to argue with him.

He just starts picking up copies of the paper when he sees new issues come out, and he rolls his eyes when Varric grins at him. He doesn’t even have a defense for it, because _he’s_ started reading it, too. Especially for the new addition of Dorian’s regular letters to the editor.

Cullen is sincerely impressed by how Dorian manages to turn something as simple as a basic complaint about the cold into an immersive description of the climate in Tevinter, the scent of the air in the cooler months, and the warm sun beating down on the waves near Qarinus.

And he manages to bring it back around to how understocked the campus store is in terms of blankets and sweatshirts. Eustace isn’t exactly happy with the resulting calls to order more fuzzy blankets and embroidered coats, but he goes about it all the same.

Cullen grabs one of the new blankets when he heads down to the store to pick up a new pack of notecards. He goes home, takes off his shoes, and kicks the heat up a bit before dropping the sherpa throw on Dorian’s chair and going about his evening.

-

Roughly a week after Dorian moves in, he begins urging Cullen to spend more time on campus. Dorian has only recently transferred to Skyhold and joined the GSA, and he’s already _well_ aware of just how much Cullen’s friends there miss him.

“You know what Issy told me, when I was trying to find a place to stay?” Dorian asks, lifting Cullen’s glass and sliding a makeshift coaster under it.

Cullen wrinkles his nose at him.

“That you should come harass me? That I can never seem to say no?” He intends for the comment to be a light-hearted one, but the truth behind it stings him.

Dorian flicks his fingers, and Cullen feels tiny particles of _frost_ hit his skin. ( _That’s_ something he’s had to get used to quickly.) “She said that I would be safe with you. That was a given, she said. But she also said I’d be good for you.”

“She wanted you to move in so you could babysit me?”

“Something like that.” Dorian grins. “Don’t pretend like you don’t need it, you heathen. What would your mother say if she saw you with your feet up on the table like that?”

“‘ _Move over_ ,’ I’d imagine.” It’s a lie. She’d box his ears, honestly, but something in him lifts a bit when Dorian laughs.

“The point is that your friends care about you and miss you, and you get frightfully little sunlight. _Go away,_ you horrid man.”

That night, Cullen shoves his feet in his heavy boots and tromps to the Chargers’ regular bar. The boys shout when they see him, and Bull buys him a drink that makes his eyes water and his nose run a bit.

People keep pounding him on the back like he’s won a race or some shit, and it’s more than a bit ridiculous. But he feels warm.

-

When Cullen attends the next GSA meeting, Sera and Issy don’t draw any dicks on his arm. They’ve moved on to Dorian, it seems, who very passionately supervises their artistic pursuits. He comes out of it covered in swirling blooms and patterns that seem bolder on his skin.

Suddenly Cullen understands how it is that Sera is an art major, even if she spends her downtime graphically narrating her sex life and hauling pails of snow up to her dorm so she can pitch them at people she doesn’t like and quickly take cover.

She catches him looking at her and sticks her tongue out at him, her whole face scrunched up like a petulant five-year-old. _Yep, still angry._ But then Issy whispers something at her and she grins and hands Dorian a marker _._

And points at Cullen.

“Are you quite sure this is body safe?” Dorian asks, already eyeballing Cullen’s rolled-up sleeves. Like they hadn’t just drawn all over his skin.

Cullen sits patiently and takes his punishment, half an eye on Dorian as he listens to what Josephine is saying about the upcoming fundraiser, and a group event with another college. He lets himself sink, just a bit, in the familiar sounds of his friends making plans and checking them two or three times.

He watches with an almost sleepy gaze as Dorian traces geometric patterns on his skin, the lines thin and delicate and not at all what he might have expected. Dorian glances up at him once or twice and grins, and he can’t help but smile back.

He realizes later that it was _sharpie._

-

Aside from being a nitpicking whiny bastard who _defaces his skin_ with a smile, Dorian also happens to be incapable of consuming local fare without making a face as if part of his childhood has been defecated on.

“I can’t tell if you’re punishing yourself, or if you were honestly told that the only way to cook anything was to ‘boil until well and truly dead.’”

“It’s not that bad.”

“‘Not that bad,’ he says. Would you drive a car if the brakes were ‘not that bad?’ Would you date someone if their personality were ‘not that bad?’”

Cullen feels as if he’s been challenged. “You really hate my cooking that much?”

“Well, not all of your cooking.” Dorian says. “I’ve never had a grilled cheese before. I quite like it.”

Cullen does not fucking _preen._ “Fine, then. We’ll take turns, and see who does better. Add whatever ingredients you need to the grocery list and I’ll pick it up.”

Dorian looks entirely too satisfied with himself. Cullen feels as if he may have walked into a trap.

-

He _has._

The ingredients Dorian adds to the list seem simple enough, although he notes the difference in their go-to flavors. He has to go to the farmer’s market and ask for assistance tracking down the type of pepper Dorian wants, but he doesn’t mind.

He picks up a few things that he wouldn’t normally think about trying.

They seem interesting enough, and when Dorian comes to help put things away and notes the new additions to the pantry, he smiles and bumps their shoulders.

Cullen shrugs and smiles back. “So I take it dinner’s going to be spicy, then?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. You grabbed an extra carton of milk, right?”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Dorian gives him a very serious look. _“Did you?_ ”

“Maker, yes! It’s in the fridge already. It really can’t be that bad, Dorian. The base ingredient is _potatoes._ ”

It is _absolutely that bad._

 _Patatas Carastes_ , or ‘potatoes in the Carastian style,’ as Dorian explains once Cullen’s done chugging a half gallon of milk and crying openly into the sink, is a Tevene dish known for being one of the **_hottest in Thedas_ **.

And then he takes another bite, as if the potatoes aren’t _tainted_.

An hour later he inches closer to Cullen as he stares pointedly at his coursework, barely resisting the urge to growl.

“I’m sorry,” He says. “That was unworthy of me. I knew you were unlikely to enjoy it.”

“I’m not sure if I’m more bothered by the fact that you _poisoned me_ or the fact that you seemed to enjoy that dish just fine.”

The whining noise Dorian makes is low and unintentional, and Cullen softens just a bit. “You can get me back?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“...I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Cullen doesn’t move as Dorian rests his forehead against his shoulder. He just sighs and switches his highlighter to the other hand. His notes are a bit harder to make sense of, but that’s nothing new.


	3. I'll Wear the Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! 
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out how to get the bbs to where they need to go.
> 
> (Also I included a link to the soup recipe bc I love you and want you to eat nice things.)

When it’s Cullen’s turn to cook, he makes a hearty [beef and mushroom stew](http://www.czechinthekitchen.com/2013/03/01/creamy-beef-mushroom-and-wild-rice-soup/) that only tastes better after it cools and thickens. He mixes up a great big vat of it, and neither of them has to cook for days after.

He catches Dorian scraping the edges of the bowl with his fingers and popping them in his mouth.

“I take it back,” Dorian teases. “You _do_ know how to cook.”

Next time he cooks, he makes a popular street dish from Qarinus that his father, apparently, turned his nose up at all the time. It’s _basic_ , Dorian intones in what must be a distant mimicry of his father. It’s also delicious, pricking at his tongue and warming him from the inside out. He wants more, and he listens with greedy ears about what goes into it, where it comes from.

Dorian tells Cullen about hot afternoons when he would sneak away from his studies and slurp up the thick, doughy noodles with his best friend.

They would pack in shoulder to shoulder and stuff their chubby cheeks before finding a fountain to cool their skin and throats, then wander back toward home, hearts and bellies full. He tells the story with a sigh and a smile, and Cullen nods his head.

He’s starting to get it--why Dorian misses spices so desperately.

They continue to alternate cooking duties, and Cullen continues to bring back curious surprises from the farmer’s market where people are quickly beginning to recognize him.

He comes home, arms laden with bags, and each time Dorian smiles.

-

At the bar, Cullen stares blankly at the nearly neon-red hot wings piled up on the plate. His fingers are stained with the same obnoxious color, but not as much as Krem’s or Bull’s. He’s eaten _one_ , and now all he can manage is frowning at the plate.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Bull asks softly.

“Is that really as spicy as they get?”

Grim makes an offended noise, and Skinner pulls a face. They’d both attempted the Fire Alarm Challenge last week and failed _miserably._

“That’s a little weird comin’ from you, man.” Bull chuckles. “That roommate got you tryin’ new things?”

“He’s an _asshole_ .” Cullen says. “Have you ever heard of _Patatas Carastes_ ? Because _I_ hadn’t before he watched me shovel them in my mouth.”

Bull throws his head back and laughs.

His horns accidentally box Leliana in as she sashays by with a pitcher of beer in each hand. She bops him lightly with the bottom of one and smiles at Cullen, “It’s good to have you back, but maybe keep him upright?”

-

Dorian _is_ an asshole.

He’s an asshole that Cullen gets along well enough with, but he’s an asshole.

One Saturday night, Cullen has no plans with the Chargers or any of his other friends. He’s just settled in to read on the couch when Dorian comes in, holding up a chess set as if he’s discovered some sacred artifact and expects to be praised like the saint among men that he is.

“You play chess?” He asks, his grin broad and his cheeks flushed from the cold. His shoulders rise and fall as if he _ran_ the last few blocks to the apartment.

“Yes,” Cullen says. “I take it you’d like a match?”

“If you think you can best me, be my guest.”

“I think I’ve as fair a chance as anyone.” Cullen smirks.

He doesn’t.

Because Dorian _cheats_.

-

“Like a _bandit_ , Bull!” Cullen throws his hands up, as if to indicate their arrival at an ascended plane of bullshit. “He says he plays by ‘Tevene rules.’”

Krem snorts, “Horseshit.”

“ _That’s what I said._ ”

-

He cheats at anything a person can get away with cheating at, up to and including Uno, and he _smiles_ as he does it. Cullen's not about to make any bets against the man, that's for damn certain.

When the GSA holds game night, all they have to do is walk in the door and Sera nearly vaults over the table as she crows, “Twinkletits is on my team! Prepare to lose yer fuckin’ panties!”

Dorian grins the whole way home, humming an upbeat tune, as if he doesn't have Cullen's smalls tucked neatly into the pocket of his painted-on jeans.

“You should be ashamed.” Cullen sighs.

“Cullen,” Dorian says. “When you're this good, shame is impossible.”

-

When it's time for Cullen to leave for the holidays, Dorian hands him two wrapped parcels with _No Peeking 'til First Day_ tags, a cartoonish nug peeking over the top of each. He can't help but smile, momentarily warm before being overcome by awkwardness.

“I haven't done any shopping...” He says.

Dorian shakes his head. “We hadn't talked about it. It's all right. I've been meaning to thank you, anyway.”

“For what?”

“Letting me live with you? Feeding me? Not tossing me out on my ass when I whinge about...virtually everything?”

Cullen smiles. “You're not that bad.”

“A ringing endorsement if ever I've had one.” Dorian laughs. “Well, you can trust me to hold down the fort until your return.”

“Happy holidays, Dorian.” Cullen shifts awkwardly, the duffel over his shoulder butting at his hip. Before he can really figure out what to do next—whether there's some other pleasantry he can offer, or if he should just walk away—the man steps forward and wraps him up in a hug, his chin resting comfortably against Cullen's shoulder.

“Be safe.” He says, and then draws away, a sad look on his face.

Cullen bobs his head, then turns and walks away.

His stomach hurts. He supposes he'll miss Dorian while he’s away, but he's already promised to check in now and then via text. Nothing wrong with making sure his friend is enjoying his break.

-

The Rutherford home is a patchwork affair, set upon a good plot of land with fertile fields and plenty of room for the animals to graze. It's grown over the years to accommodate kids and grandkids alike, and it's obvious where the expansions took place. But it's a good home, warm and safe and practically _leaking_ love out into the landscape.

Cullen rolls down the windows as he nears the property, happy to breathe in the familiar scents of home, the chilling bite of the air, and the sounds of gravel crunching under the tires. He can't help but grin as he pulls into the drive and hears people hollering from inside as they rush to meet him at the door.

Mia's youngest, Rowan, comes charging into his arms just as he steps down from the cab, a full inch taller than when he last saw him. The others aren't far behind, wrapping him up in that warm, nostalgic feeling of unconditional acceptance.

He _needed_ this.

-

It doesn't take long for Ma and Da and Mia to start fussing at him about falling out of contact. The idea of explaining all that's happened fills him with a sense of panic, but once he starts, he can’t seem to stop himself.

He pushes through it, and afterwards, it’s like his surfacing after holding his breath underwater for far too long. Like his lungs are finally working as they should, and the cold air burns even as it feels _magnificent._

Mia runs to the downstairs bathroom and comes back with an entire roll of toilet paper. Between the four of them, a fair decent amount is used up, and Cullen can’t help but laugh a bit when Da holds a wad up to his nose and insists that he blow.

“I’m all right, now.” He says. “Or...well... _better._ I’m getting better.”

“How’s that?” Mia asks. “You’ve not told us how it is you got back on your feet.”

“Well,” Cullen laughs. “My friend Issy found me a roommate.”

Talking about Dorian is different.

As he tells the story, his chest loosens up more, becomes warmer in increments. He realizes that he’s begun to laugh and smile, and that his Ma and Da and Mia are all eating up his accounts of Dorian in all of his damnably irritating glory.

And then he mentions that Dorian opted to stay at the apartment over the holiday.

“Oh.” Says Mia.

“Oh.” Says Ma.

“You did _not_ leave that poor boy all alone for the holidays.” Says Da.

“Not _alone_ ,” Cullen protests. “I understand he’s got plans to get _shitfaced_ with Issy and Sera, at least, and that’s always an adventure.”

“Cullen, dear?” Ma frowns.

“I...yes?”

“ _Give us yer phone._ ”

-

Dorian has no idea what hits him, if his confusion rings true down the line. One moment he’s likely taking advantage of his time alone to make himself a toaster pastry and douse it in horrifying quantities of packaged frosting, and the next he’s being seasonally adopted by Adelaide and Bernhard Rutherford.

Within five minutes, Dorian is _sweetheart_ and _darling_ and Cullen is being leveled with the sternest stare he’s felt in _months_ while Mia tries not to laugh.

They make plans to rush ship him a tin of cookies, which really means Cullen can expect a whole lot of tupperware and a roommate at least five pounds heavier when he gets back to their apartment, and instruct him to keep himself warm, which Dorian laughingly agrees is never something he’d argue against.

“We’ll check in on First Day, of course, my dear.” Ma coos.

“You keep safe. The roads are icy enough there. D’you have snow tires?” Da asks.

“Well, no.” Dorian says. “I haven’t a car. Cullen usually drives me when I need it.”

Another round of glares, and Cullen feels outright _attacked_.

The silence must speak volumes, because Dorian quickly adds. “But I like the walk, and he was kind enough to lend me a pair of his sturdy boots. I think I could ride out an avalanche in them.”

Once again, all eyes are on Cullen as he turns an unflattering pink. Honestly, Dorian’s winter shoes were sad, flimsy things constructed from suede and prayer. Not at all practical. He’d not felt an ounce of shame in yanking Dorian’s feet into his lap and showing him how to lace up a proper boot after the man had trundled through a puddle in the useless things.

“Well, then,” Ma smiles. “That’s all right.”

Mia stuffs a cookie in his mouth and pats his head, and Cullen feels as if he’s _missed_ something.

-

Cullen has never really been much for texting, but Dorian is. He’s frightfully social--even has one of those damned gif keyboards on his phone that he uses to assail Cullen with pop culture references--and with their current separation, he makes something of a game out of keeping Cullen in the loop.

And he is most _certainly_ running the full circuit.

One morning, early in the break, Dorian texts:

_It’s awful!_

Cullen feels his stomach twist _hard,_ running over a mental checklist of things that may have gone wrong, and how soon he can be back in town to sort things out. He doesn’t even notice that he’s bent his fork clean in half, but then--

_Varric knows._

**Knows what?** He sends back.

_He knows I’m the one who’s been sending the letters to the editor._

**You do have a rather distinctive style of whining.**

_Excuse you, someone on this campus has to have standards. And don’t say Vivienne. For a social activities chair, she’s the biggest funpire I’ve ever met._

**Of all the words you could have adopted from Sera, you chose funpire.**

_Sod off._

A few minutes go by, during which Cullen tries frantically to straighten his fork before his mother notices what he’s done. Then--

_He’s asked me to join the newspaper staff. As an actual contributor. He says I have talent, and also balls._

**How is any of this a problem?**

_He keeps calling me ‘Sparkler.’ And he wants me to review things._

**So for once you DON’T want to whine incessantly?**

_You’re an ass. And I hate_

_Wait._

_You don’t have a Regulator General here_

**A what now?**

_They’re in charge of censorship._

**No we don’t have that.**

_Maker._

Cullen feels a sudden welling of excitement. Honestly, he’s not exactly a television hound himself, but now that he thinks about it, he remembers Krem talking about how _exciting_ it was to discover pop culture without everything being scrubbed to shit.

He can ask the man for a few recommendations, and share a few favorites with his roommate. He can think of a few classics that Dorian should get a real kick out of.

**I have a tv in storage. I’ll grab it when I come back.**

_I look forward to it!_

Cullen feels something wet hit his cheek, and catches sight of a Nug Puff rolling off the table by his elbow. He frowns at Rosalie, who beams at him smugly.

“You were smiling like a _tit._ Who’re you talking to anyway?”

“My roommate.” Cullen huffs.

“Dorian!” Mia chirps.

“He’s a love.” Ma nods, and reaches out to touch Da’s hand.

Cullen feels a little bit betrayed, but he shakes it off.

-

One evening, Cullen almost swallows his _tongue_ after Krem texts him a photo of a nearly naked Bull perched at a scarred-up table next to a beatifically-smiling Dorian. Both are holding handfuls of cards, and the feeling of second-hand dread is very, very real.

 _He’s an ass,_ Krem writes. _But I can’t even hate him._

Five minutes later, _We’ve talked him into playing for favors because exactly no one needs to see Boss’ dick tonight._

_Except maybe Dorian mfb he has no shame_

_Cheaty bastard_

_Oh fuck this_

Cullen manages to rub enough sleep from his eyes to type back, **What happened????** but there’s no response from Krem.

Another twenty or so minutes later, Cullen gets a text from Bull:

**he cheats SO MUCH**

And he can’t help but laugh.

**cullen hes making us redecorate the student center**

**in the middle of the fuckin night**

**in our boxers**

**he says it’s because ‘aesthetic’**

**i’m too wasted for this**

Cullen has to bite down on his pillow to muffle the laughter.

**there’s somethin fucking wrong with him**

**but i’m glad he’s living with you**

The laughter peters off, and Cullen stares at the screen, confused and pleased in equal measure. An infinite number of things could have gone wrong during Dorian’s introduction to Bull and the boys, and while this situation doesn’t _seem_ to have been ideal, it settles something in Cullen’s stomach to know they’ve had this bizarre bonding experience.

Soon enough, he gets another text, this time from Dorian.

_Your friends are atrocious at Wicked Grace, but fantastic at following direction._

Then there’s a brief video of the Chargers, all in various states of undress, shuffling the furniture in the student center. Somehow they’ve acquired several comfortable-looking armchairs and a number of potted plants that Cullen’s never _seen_ before. From behind the camera, Dorian chirps orders with sadistic glee. Krem flips off the camera before one-two-heaving a loveseat with a _sloshed_ -looking Rocky.

_And wonderfully well-built. Even Rocky. Compact hotness. Itty bitty abs committee._

**I feel like you can get in trouble for this.**

_Cullen I am untouchable_

**You’re drunk is what you are. Tell me you’re not driving home.**

_Issy’s coming to get me, you worrying worrry man_

Dorian is easily the most articulate lush Cullen has ever met. He feels the oddest mix of concern and affection, but tamps it down.

**Vivienne is going to pitch a fit.**

_Vivienne de Fer can eat my entire ass. And not the fun wayy._

**I don’t think you’re her type.**

_Honestly thouugh I’m happy with our progress_

_look at us_

_bonding_

_I hope they like me._

**They do.**

**They’d be fools not to.**

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr at [anabundanceofstilinskis.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
